Needing Is One Thing - Getting? Getting's Another
by Shadukiam
Summary: A series of snapshots into the lives of our favorite characters in their mid-twenties as they navigate the tricky waters of romance, friendship, and what it means to love. A tumblr-story written from the prompts of anonymous tumblr users and presented achronologically; see chapter one for a more thorough explanation.
1. Author's Note

**Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another**

 _This story is from my tumblr account, shadu-kiam. Every chapter was prompted to me through my ask-box by anonymous tumblr users. The chapters are posted in the order in which they were posted,_ _ **not**_ _in chronological order. The story is still on-going and will be continued as I receive asks with appropriate prompts._

 _Because of the nature of the story, I'll be including the prompt that inspired each chapter at the start of the chapter._

 _If you'd like to contribute to the story, I'd welcome you to! Please drop a prompt into my tumblr's ask box. Unfortunately, if the prompt doesn't fit in with the established narrative of the story, I won't be able to include it as part of the Needing Is One Thing series for the sake of internal consistency._

 _ **Established Pairings:**_ _Draco/Hermione, Harry/Daphne, Blaise/Neville, Ron/Pansy (off & on)._

 _The title is taken from an OK Go song called Needing/Getting._ _Thank you to my beta, susanwroteapoem._

 _Enjoy!_


	2. Ginny: Part 1

**Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another**

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Prompt: "Anonymous asked: Could you write a little Dramione scene with Ginny in love with Draco or attracted to him, but he's in love with Hermione?"

 **Ginny: Part 1**

 _Spring - Fall 2003_

She'd dated Harry for two years, and it had been _fine_. They'd gotten along well. After the war, he'd really mellowed out and he'd balanced out the more _fiery_ aspects of her personality. He could calmly ride out any storm, including his girlfriend. She forced him to have fun, to go out and live when all he wanted to do was stay at home and do something quiet.

Ginny liked to think that it had been a good set-up, while it lasted. Of course, it hadn't _lasted_ , and that wasn't really anyone's fault.

She'd missed the boy she'd fallen in love with. The passionate, wild-eyed youth that Harry had been was a product, she knew, of a horrible upbringing and then being thrust far too young into the maws of death. She'd seen the haunted look that lingered in his eyes and wanted to provide comfort. She'd seen his serious mein – unusual for a boy his age – and aspired to his 'maturity.' She'd placed him on a pedestal, and _that_ had definitely been her fault.

And when they'd finally sat down and discussed their relationship, he'd admitted that maybe his attraction to her had been at least partially due to a desire to be a member of her family. It had hurt at the time to hear that, but looking back on it, she understood. She wished she'd known earlier, to be honest.

She could have told him that he'd always be an honorary Weasley, whether he dated her or not.

After two years of him dating approximately no one – he was barely even seen outside of his job, preferring to stay in his house and play those 'video games' he liked, or read books – the first time he'd stepped out with a girl had been the biggest media hurricane since the war itself.

Daphne Greengrass.

Ginny remembered forlornly asking Hermione if she thought Daphne Greengrass was prettier than she was. Hermione and Ron had recently parted ways ( _finally_ , Ginny had thought; she'd never thought they worked well together), so they'd formed a sort of impromptu Single Girl's Club. She remembered the startled look Hermione had sent her, as if to ask, _Harry Potter? You're still not over him?_

But she'd answered, "Of course not, Ginny. You're not called the Hotty Harpy for nothing, you know."

And even though Hermione was usually not the comforting sort, it _had_ made her feel better. She liked to think they'd become a lot closer girlfriends as adults – they'd always been friends in school, of course, but Hermione had been understandably wrapped up in Harry's adventures. And Ginny treasured the friendship they had _now_ more than anything.

The introduction of Daphne Greengrass into their life was a bit odd to start with. Harry had been anxious, and Hermione had gone out of her way to be as welcoming and accepting as possible. Ginny had felt awkward when meeting her, unable to _help_ but notice how collected and put together and beautiful the woman looked. Ron had looked awkward, too, his eyes darting between his sister and his best mate's new girlfriend almost frantically, like he was trying to determine which side he'd have to take if it came to a duel.

So Ginny had plastered a smile on her face. Harry and her were over, after all, and they were _just friends_ , now. And she had no right to feel jealousy when she'd been as glad to break up with him as he'd been to break up with her. She didn't even _want_ Harry Potter, so why did she have to suffer through the ugliness of this possessive instinct?

Of course, it did _not_ help that Daphne was about as kind and charming as you'd expect a Slytherin _not_ to be. She'd been quiet enough, in school, but Ginny remembered her giggling with Pansy Parkinson as Draco threw out insult after insult.

But, hey. People grew up, apparently.

Daphne was nice. And she got along well with Hermione, and never _once_ tried to insinuate that her blood status mattered in any capacity.

The group slowly began to collect Slytherins. Pansy was first, since she and Daphne were still good friends. Pansy was sharp and acid-tongued and Ginny _liked_ her – her sarcasm was even more pointed and dangerous than it had been in school, except now that they were friendly, it was witty instead of painful.

Blaise had been next. He was as suave and charming as ever, coolly confident and well-dressed. His barbs lay more in the realm of backhanded compliments and passive aggressive eyebrow raises. Other than that, he was perfectly polite, always the sort of man who never left the evidence of his insults behind.

Then it had been Draco Malfoy.

That had been a tense addition; Ron still didn't care for him, after all, and it was hard for both Harry and Draco to set aside the almost-ingrained habit of enmity. Harry tried, though, and valiantly. It had almost hurt to see how hard he tried to get along with Draco Malfoy, knowing it was all for Daphne's sake. Ginny sometimes wondered if he would have ever tried that hard to change for _her_. She'd never know, she supposed, and she knew it was useless wondering.

"They're sickening, aren't they?" he'd drawled during a little get-together at Harry's house. Grimmauld Place had become less melancholy since Daphne's addition to it. Harry, ever the introvert, was now inviting people over to _socialize_.

Draco had found her in the kitchen, nursing a strong cup of something-or-the-other. When she cast him a curious frown, he'd gently tilted his head towards Harry and Daphne, curled up against each other on the couch. "All lovey-dovey," he'd muttered, rolling his eyes. "And Pansy's sinking her claws into your brother. Better watch out."

Ginny blinked, her frown intensifying as her eyes panned to see Pansy talking to Ron. He seemed as oblivious as usual, but she saw the way Pansy's hip was cocked, the way she let her hand linger on his arm as she laughed at something he said.

He already looked half-smitten.

"I like Pansy," she'd said, shrugging. And it was true. She wasn't sure how her mother would feel about the relationship, but truth be told, Ginny wasn't against it.

Draco had looked at her, then, his lips curling into an appreciative smirk. "Do you? Not many do," he'd added.

"I thought you were friends."

"She's my best friend," Draco affirmed. "And _I_ appreciate the unique aspects of her personality. It's rare to find someone else who does. Proves you've got good taste. For a blood traitor," he'd added.

Ginny's hackles rose before she realized that his tone was light, and teasing, and his eyes were kind of twinkling in this _mischievous_ way she'd never seen before. Momentarily speechless, she'd stared at him a beat before laughing, a little embarrassed by how quickly she'd been able to be baited. "Well, your taste isn't too awful, yourself. For an inbred little Death Eater."

As soon as she'd said it, she'd wondered if it was too far, but he'd laughed, and clinked his plastic cup against hers. "Cheers to that."

And Ginny felt a curious warmth spreading in her belly as she regarded him, suddenly finding it a little hard to swallow. Of course, she knew a crush when she felt it – she'd endured a decade-long one with Harry, after all – but it still caught her off-guard. Not that it was too out of the ordinary, she'd defended to herself: Draco Malfoy was handsome, he was single, he was _funny_ , and he seemed like the sort of guy who might appreciate the kind of unapologetic person _she_ was.

So why not?

She'd nursed the crush for months. They always seemed to find each other during get togethers, having a blast making fun of everyone else. It got a little mean, sometimes, but it felt _good_ to tap into that kind of acidity. It felt kind of nice to pierce the bubble of _niceness_ and _goodness_ that had come from the Golden Trio.

It felt strangely gratifying.

"Merlin, what is she wearing?" Draco had sighed, and Ginny had followed his gaze to Hermione.

Hermione had never been fashion-conscious. Right now, she was wearing jeans and some baggy flannel thing over a t-shirt, with beaten-up runners. Ginny had kind of grown used to that, though; Hermione had always prized comfort over anything else. For a moment, she'd stalled, not sure of what to say.

Hermione was one of Draco's favorite targets for their idle gossip, and she'd always done her best to steer away from it, innately uncomfortable with the idea of it. It felt much more like betrayal than sniping at the others.

Because Hermione was a _good person_. She was not always the most likable person, but she was _good_. She always wanted to do the right thing. She always held tightly onto what she considered to be the right opinion, even if it was an unpopular one (and it frequently was). She defended people when things got too mean, even people like Luna or Neville who were constantly the butt of people's jokes – even the people who were supposed to be their enemies. And she was stubborn and strong enough to glare anyone down who tried to defend themselves about it.

Ginny had always been envious of that kind of confidence. There had been times when she'd thought Pansy or Ron or Blaise had been a little _mean_ in their commentary regarding Luna or Neville, but she'd never said anything about it. Maybe she was afraid of being targeted, herself.

Of course, the hypocrisy of that lay in her interactions with Draco, but those were _private_. Intimate. They didn't blast their rude opinions out to everyone, they just snickered quietly over them together. It was different.

Not that she thought Hermione would share that opinion.

"She likes to be comfortable," Ginny murmured. "Did you see Blaise's vest? It looks like a bunch of flowers puked onto it."

"Why do you always do that?" Draco wondered, chuckling. "You're telling me you're scared of Granger, too? You think she's going to come over here and give you a sharp look if you speak ill of her? I won't tell, you know."

Ginny frowned. "I'm not scared of her. _We're_ not scared of her," she clarified, although she wasn't sure that was strictly true; she'd seen Harry and Ron's terror the few times they'd truly pissed the bushy-haired witch off. She didn't know what they knew about Hermione that she didn't, but whatever it was they _did_ know, they did their best to never push the girl too far.

Draco leaned in, his eyes half-lidded, and she felt her mouth grow dry. "So, what, you think she's _perfect_? Beyond reproach? Beyond judgment?"

"No," she said, softly.

"So? Give me something. Don't make me stand here and make fun of her all by myself," he coaxed. His eyes were magnetic; pale and not blue, like she'd always assumed. _Grey_. "And you know what she's wearing is atrocious."

She felt her resistance crumbling, and for the first time since her little gossipy chats with Draco started, she felt a pang of guilt. "She's had those clothes for over six years," she said. She didn't know why she did it. Maybe because of the euphoric high she felt when Draco's eyes lit up. "She refuses to throw anything away until it's positively in _tatters_. I grew up poor, and even _I_ think that's sad."

Draco laughed, and the sound of it pooled in her belly like pure liquid warmth. She wanted more. "Maybe she's even poorer than you are."

"That's the thing, she's not," Ginny huffed. "Her parents are healers and they make very good money. She's just _abnormal_. She hates shopping, and really, I think that's the main thing about it. If she threw her clothes away, she'd have to go _shopping_ , and she'd rather wear a burlap sack than do _that_." Why did it feel so freeing to speak so badly about Hermione? The guilt was fading away with every word she spoke, and beneath it she saw something she'd never expected to see: Resentment.

Hermione had always been there for her. She was supportive, and kind; maybe a little too honest sometimes, but she always had good intentions. She always set aside time to be there for _Ginny_. She was like the older sister Ginny had never had.

And she was _perfect_.

And maybe a small piece of Ginny hated her for it. Why couldn't Hermione be just… _wrong_ , for once? Why couldn't she stop being flawless and wonderful and smart and confident for even two seconds?

What did it say about Ginny, that she felt so much _satisfaction_ in tearing her down?

Draco was still snickering, and he bumped his shoulder against hers, sending her a little wink. "There she is," he said, almost proudly. "I was wondering when you'd finally give in. I don't know what it is about Granger that's got you all so _whipped_ , but it's absolutely revolting."

Ginny knew, of course. But what she said was, "Oh, no one wants to deal with her disappointed looks. It's like she's everyone's second mother that no one wanted."

"That's the perfect way to describe it," he agreed.

She wanted to give him more. She was addicted to this approval, she realized; it was trouble, and she was pretty much a goner. She was beyond help. "Do you know she's still advocating elf rights?" Draco's eyebrows shot up in incredulity, and Ginny smirked. "Yeah, seriously. She never knows when to quit, you know? She says something's wrong, the entire _world_ disagrees, and she still won't stop annoying everyone about it. She never did understand how to pick her battles."

"What is she trying to do, put them all out of work?" he asked, cocking his head. "Out of a _home_? Where would they even go?"

Ginny shrugged. "I think it's more about getting them paid and making sure they have days off, that sort of thing. She believes that they're people and deserve the same rights as wizards. You can't really talk her out of it, and believe me, Ron has tried."

"I suppose Potter agrees with her?"

Yes. He did. She knew that he did. But she shrugged, as if she didn't. "She's trying to earn rights for every creature on the planet, basically. Centaurs, trolls, giants, all of them. I don't know why she always insists on fighting losing battles."

Draco was silent for a beat. "With all that energy, you'd think she'd figure out something to do with her hair," he drawled.

Ginny burst into giggles, and he smirked a bit. Gods, she loved that smirk. It made her feel all gooey inside. "Don't tell anyone," she murmured, and he leaned in to hear her better. "But she _has_ tried. She's done potions, charms, everything. Nothing really works, it's like her hair has a mind of its own. She officially gave up about a year ago."

"Why can't I tell anyone?"

She shrugged. "She's always going on and on about how people are shallow and the like. It'd be embarrassing to admit she cares about her looks as much as the _rest_ of us mortals, you know?"

He looked thoughtful, sending Hermione a calculating glance, and she felt her heart seize in panic.

She grabbed his arm, _hard_ , and he looked down at her in surprise. "Don't say anything," she repeated, almost pleading. She couldn't _believe_ she'd told Draco Malfoy that Hermione was self-conscious about her looks – the guilt that had been fading away was now back in full force, threatening to eat her alive from the inside. Hermione had told her that on a girl's weekend, red-faced and embarrassed and near tears (they'd had too much wine, at that point), and Ginny had sworn to keep her secret.

Now, realizing that she'd just fed it to Hermione's school bully, she was horrified.

"Please," she said, lowly. "Don't… just forget I said that, alright?"

He gently twisted his arm out of her grip. "What's the big deal? So she's a person. She really finds that mortifying?" he demanded, rolling his eyes. "If anything, knowing that she's _human_ at least makes her slightly more tolerable."

Swallowing, Ginny couldn't help but agree. "Well, it was a secret," she said, quietly. "I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. Not even Harry or Ron."

"I already told you I wouldn't tell anyone," Draco assured her. "Malfoys keep their promises."

Relief flooded her. "Thanks."

After a beat, he said, "Although if she _does_ care about her appearance, why does she always have to walk around looking like a homeless vagrant dressed her from the remnants of a _dumpster_?"

Giggling again, Ginny said, "Because then it would look like she was trying. Can't have that."

He'd laughed, and it had chased her worries and guilt away.

Now that they'd broken the seal, Ginny noticed over the course of the next several months that they spent more time making fun of Hermione than anyone else. She'd assumed that Draco was _beyond_ his little schoolboy grudges, but apparently not. Sometimes, Ginny even worried that he still _hated_ Hermione, and the thought filled her with dread – because if that came out, they wouldn't be able to be friends anymore, and would probably never see each other. She _certainly_ wouldn't be able to date him.

His mean remarks sometimes made their way out of their little gossip bubble, and he and Hermione would viciously snipe at each other before Hermione threw her hands up and stalked away, determined to be the mature one.

She wasn't sure when the snide remarks turned into genuine questions. The change had been gradual.

It had been going on for a while by the time she realized.

"So what does she do when she's not at work, then?" Draco was asking her. They'd been gossip buddies for eight months, now, and Ginny sometimes wondered when he was finally going to ask her out. They'd been flirting for so long. Was it his parents? Did they not approve of her?

"Who?" she asked, although she knew exactly who he was talking about.

"Granger."

"She reads, mostly, I think. She likes these muggle things called films, and she'll go out to see films a lot. They're like plays," she added. "But… like, in a picture. Like if you took a picture and it had a full two-hour play in it, with sound."

He was staring at Hermione speculatively. Something about his expression made a feeling of palpable dread sink down her spine, although she couldn't figure out why, exactly. "Plays. What else does she do?"

"I mean, she likes museums, and stuff… parks," Ginny said, slowly. She realized that he hadn't said a single mean thing about Hermione this entire conversation. "Why?"

He blinked at her. "What?"

"Why are you asking what she does in her free time?" Ginny asked, her voice flat.

He shrugged. "I'm curious to see what _muggleborns_ get up to when they're not working or otherwise trying desperately to be productive members of society," he drawled, in an airy tone, but the nonchalance felt forced. "I always just assumed they went home and stared at a wall until they were able to be of any use, again."

She fell silent, her stomach turning dangerously. Draco couldn't _possibly_ fancy Hermione, could he?

All he ever did was make fun of her – how ridiculous her hair was, how unappealing her clothing selection was, how annoying her personality was. He made fun of her more than he made fun of everyone else.

And maybe she was just the idiot who'd decided that his obsession was born of hatred instead of something else.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

"Do you fancy her?" she heard herself ask, and in that moment she desperately wanted to take the question back. She was afraid of the answer.

Draco froze, his glass of Firewhisky halfway up to his lips. "What?" he'd scoffed, but he'd hesitated first.

Ginny swallowed. It was painfully hard. She couldn't believe she'd been so naive and _stupid_ – thinking that she and Draco were flirting and bonding over some sort of shared superiority to everyone else. Thinking that they'd been flirting and bonding over making fun of Hermione Granger when all he'd been doing was plunging Ginny for information about her.

She should have seen it coming. She wasn't normally this dumb. "You fancy _her_ ," she said, slowly, disbelieving. "Hermione. You fancy Hermione _Granger_."

"Will you keep your voice down?" he muttered, glancing around. No one had heard, but the way he'd tensed up said it all. Ginny glared at him, coldly, and his jaw clenched a bit. He hadn't thought he'd be caught, she realized; he'd gotten sloppy, there, towards the end. Had forgot to be mean at the right moments. Had started asking genuine questions. "Maybe I do," he finally admitted, in a low, flat tone.

Ginny shook her head, still unable to believe this was happening. " _Her_ ," she repeated. Perfect Hermione with the frizzy hair and the dumpy clothes and the frumpy personality.

 _Her_?

"Why?"

Draco looked distinctly uncomfortable. He shifted, almost fidgety, and she fought the urge to scream. "I don't know."

Well, this was embarrassing. Laughing hollowly, Ginny drained her drink. "You know, I thought you were flirting with me, this entire time?" she said, cocking her head at him. She was drunk, she realized; sober, she would have never admitted that.

His eyebrows shot up, his lips parting in surprise. This was the first time she'd ever seen him truly speechless; no matter how surprised he was, Draco _always_ had a glib remark.

"I'm an idiot," Ginny said, smiling humorlessly. "Aren't I?"

Draco stared at her, his expression growing somber as he slowly realized just how badly he'd miscalculated. "No," he said, softly. "You're not. You're one of the few people in here that I actually like."

"As a friend," she finished, bitterly.

His lips thinned a bit, but he nodded. He didn't look away, though. At least he respected her that much.

"Great," she muttered. "Since I'm so _lacking_ in those." She slammed her plastic cup on the kitchen counter and stalked into the living room where everyone else was. She could feel her cheeks burning with mortification. Her nose was stinging. She hoped to Merlin she didn't start crying at the _party_.

A cool, small hand settled on her shoulder. "You okay?" Hermione whispered. Ginny looked into those soft brown eyes and wasn't sure if she wanted to sink into the comfort of her friend's embrace, crying her eyes out, or smack Hermione in the face for being so relentlessly _perfect_ that even the person that hated her _the most_ for all their lives wanted to freaking date her. It just wasn't fair.

"Did he say something to you?" Hermione demanded, her expression growing stormy as her eyes flicked to the kitchen, where Ginny knew Draco still stood. "I swear, if he said something, I'll hex him right now–"

"No," Ginny muttered. She pressed her fingertips into the corners of her eyes, hoping to stop the tears from coming. "No, he didn't. Listen, I'm going to go home."

Blinking, Hermione looked at her, long and hard. "I'll go with you," she decided.

"You don't have to."

Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes a bit. "Like there's any place I'd rather be than with you," she said, fondly, her tone warm and firm and confident.

Ginny thought of all the awful things she'd said about Hermione behind her back for the past eight months, and she felt her face twist up as the tears started to flow, in earnest. Hermione quickly ushered her into the Floo, her arms wrapped around her shoulders.

Draco didn't deserve her. But Ginny didn't, either.


	3. Harry: Part 1

**Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another**

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Prompt: "Anonymous asked: Hey, #BlackBeltAnon here. I am just shy and i have already fangirled all over you once or twice, you might think me insane. Can you please write something about how Harry and Daphne met and some scenes from their relationship, from the same Dramione/Drinny drable you just wrote. Sending a hundred hugs and kisses, and then a thousand more."

 **Harry: Part 1**

 _Spring 2002_

A year and a half was a long time to go without loving someone.

Which was crazy, because he'd certainly gone longer, in his life. Harry Potter had spent the first eleven years of his life having the love slowly beat out of him, after all. He'd thought himself in love with Cho Chang, but that wasn't quite correct.

He thought himself in love with Ginny, but maybe Ginny had just been what was easiest at the time. She loved (idolized?) him. He loved her family.

That felt like it could have been enough, but in the end, it wasn't. They'd both cried when they'd ended things, but Hermione was quick to assure him that some things were for the best – that sometimes people just didn't work out, even when they really wanted to.

Now, Harry wondered if she was trying to hint at something, because she and Ron had split up just two weeks prior. It was damn depressing, really. Why did young love always have to grow up?

And why did it have to _hurt so much_ when it did?

"Are you the one that has my cousin's case?"

Harry startled a bit, blinking owlishly up at the vaguely familiar woman. She had blonde hair and green eyes, and for a second his mind tried desperately to place her. He _knew_ he knew her, somehow. Hogwarts, maybe? "Uh, I'm sorry, your cousin is…?"

She huffed a soft laugh, shooting him a wry look. "Come on, now, Potter, we're only four years out of school. Surely I wasn't _that_ forgettable? Our class size was, what, a hundred people?"

"Greengrass!" he blurted out, his eyebrows shooting up. She'd grown up in an interesting way; he barely remembered her at school, to be honest, always kind of mentally lumping her in as one of Pansy's insipid little gaggle. "Wow, it's been a long time," he said, feeling his face heat a bit with embarrassment at his mental slip. "Sorry, I knew I recognized you, I just couldn't… Yeah."

She smiled, shrugging, and for a moment they just stared at each other as Harry momentarily forgot why she was even here. After a beat, her eyebrows rose. "So… my cousin…?"

"Oh! Right! Yes, sorry, yes, I do have it," he said, scrambling to find the file. "Um, I can't release it to you, though. I need his parents' approval."

Her face flickered, and she swallowed. "Alright," she said, with a wan smile.

"You can get it, can't you?"

Her smile tightened. "They're not too fond of him, or of me. We weren't really… sympathizers," she said, pointedly. Harry knew that, of course. The Greengrass' hadn't been among those that supported Voldemort, at least not _openly_. But the Montagnes – their French-born cousins – had been. The parents had been put to trial like everyone else and were sentenced to ten years in Azkaban.

The son had ran.

"If he wasn't a sympathizer, why's he on the run?" Harry pointed out, gently.

"Well, you and your group were stringing up everyone even loosely affiliated, weren't you?" she pointed out bitingly. "He watched it happen. Why would he expect leniency?"

"The Malfoys got a full pardon," he reminded her.

"Well, they saved your hide, didn't they?"

Dumbstruck, Harry stared at her for a few moments. "That's not _why_ they got pardoned."

"It's why you testified on their behalf. No one's going to go against your word. You're the Golden Boy," she said, softly. "Besides, he's already run. That's at least five years, you know. Or, at least, it was before."

"New administration," Harry said, firmly. "If he's innocent of any Death Eater activities, he'll be pardoned for fleeing."

She was silent a beat, not quite daring to hope. "Can you promise me that?"

"Yes, I can," he said, without hesitation.

Daphne held his gaze for a moment longer, searching his eyes for something that he wasn't saying. What she saw must have satisfied her, though, because she smiled again – small and tired. "Thanks. For promising, anyway. I know it's not entirely in your hands."

Harry's smile was wry, self-deprecating. "Well, you never know. I _am_ the Golden Boy."

She laughed, and the sound was soft and melodic. "I'll work on that approval," she promised, turning away. "For now, I'll leave you to your work. Until next time, Potter."

"Later, Greengrass," he murmured, watching her go.

A year and a half was a long time to go without loving someone. That was probably why he couldn't stop thinking that she looked awfully pretty these days. There really was no other excuse for that kind of insanity.

Right?

* * *

They hadn't given her the approval, but with Harry's promise of leniency for the innocent, she started stopping in more and more to help him try and track her cousin down. Jacques, she'd explained, was an exceptionally clever young man – one of the top of his class at Beauxbatons. He wasn't stupid enough to try and cross any borders on his flight, and she was certain that he was still in the UK.

"You seem to love him a lot," Harry finally observed, after five weeks of seeing her two to three times a week. He'd never seen someone so dedicated to finding someone, unless it was a missing child.

Daphne hesitated, shooting him an uncertain look, like she wasn't sure how much to say. "We grew up together when we were young. I spent summers with him, and we always wrote when we were in school. He feels more like an older brother than a cousin," she said, quietly. "I'm worried he'll be found by some overzealous Auror and Avada'd on sight."

"That would never happen," Harry said, shocked. "Those spells are illegal."

She snorted. "Your idealism is certainly refreshing."

"No Auror would risk getting thrown into Azkaban to catch some Death Eater potential affiliate."

"You're assuming, of course, that all the Aurors here are upstanding citizens who would never dream of tampering with their wands to remove evidence," she said, flatly. "You can't tell me that's _never_ happened, before."

"No, I can't," he admitted. "But I can tell you that I'm fairly certain it's not happening _now_. Our Department Head got rid of a lot of those types when he came in. He's a good man."

"All he did was remove the obvious ones."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head a bit. "You're awfully cynical for someone your age, you know that?"

She shot him a condescending look. "And you're a naive farm-bred idiot."

"Better than a bitter old hag," he shot back. "You must have a hell of a time keeping that dance card full when you go to those posh Pureblood parties."

"Don't talk about me like you know anything about me."

"I give as good as I get, Greengrass."

For a moment, they just glared at each other. Finally, she huffed, gathered her things, and left, leaving him fuming at his desk for the rest of the day.

* * *

The next time he saw her, she was running into the Ministry – at a full sprint, in her high heels. She stumbled when she saw him, and he hurried to grab her. "Where is he?" she demanded, before he could ask her what on Earth she thought she was doing running around in those shoes. "Where's Jacques?"

"In custody," Harry murmured, bemused, and caught her elbow when she made to run past him. "No visitors."

"They can't stop me, I'm family," she seethed.

"They can, and they will. Until he's finished questioning, nobody's going in there," he said, firmly. He hadn't released her arm. "Come on. Grab a cup of coffee with me. I'll keep you company until you're allowed in."

She hesitated, looking desperately at the door to the department he'd just walked out of.

"Greengrass, the only thing you're going to end up doing in _there_ is waiting. You might as well wait with me," he suggested, gently.

Ten minutes later, she was looking rather overdressed for the Starbucks line in Muggle London, which she'd balked at entering to begin with. Harry had transfigured his robes into a Muggle jacket, but she'd steadfastly refused to transfigure anything she was wearing. As a result, she looked patently ridiculous, her chin raised haughtily when she caught the blinking stares of the Muggles around them.

"You'd think they'd never seen silk before," she sneered.

"Oh, no that's rather commonplace in coffee shops. You're just coming in at an off-time when all the riff-raff shows up," he said, in a light tone, earning a narrow glance from her as she tried to determine whether or not he was being sarcastic. "They're probably just jealous of the furs."

"I suppose you think you're awfully funny," she said, sourly.

He bit back a smile. "I've my moments."

"Rare as they are," she drawled. As they drew closer to the register, she added, "Order me a proper cappuccino."

He did, and when he handed her the little paper cup, she let out a long-suffering sigh as she wrapped her perfectly manicured hand around it. He popped the top off of his to add some sugar and cream, stifling another smile at her snobbish behavior. Watching a Pureblood flounder about out of their element was oddly endearing. "You alright, there?"

"Am I meant to drink it out of this little hole?" she demanded, a faint sneer twisting her delicate features. "Merlin, Muggles are positively ridiculous."

Harry was shaking with silent laughter as he followed her out.

* * *

Jacques Montagne received a full pardon at the conclusion of his trial two months later, partially in thanks to Harry and Daphne's testimonies. She was so thankful afterwards that she kissed him on the cheek before running to hug her cousin.

He could feel the imprint of it days later.

* * *

"That's a disgusting habit," she commented. Harry had been in the process of tossing nuts in the air and trying to catch them with his mouth. Of course, when she interrupted, it bounced off his glasses and fell somewhere beneath his desk.

"Ah, shit," he muttered, peering under his desk for it. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, since I was so helpful to you these past few months, I thought I'd make myself available should you decide to _continue_ availing yourself of my services," she said, inspecting her fingernails.

Harry huffed incredulously. "Is that so?"

She rolled her eyes a bit. "For Merlin's sake, Potter. I'm trying to help you preserve your masculinity by giving you opportunity after opportunity to ask me out to dinner, and you are hopelessly dense."

Stunned, he stared at her. He could feel a dumb smile forming on his face and did his best to bite it back. "For your information, I couldn't have taken you out while your cousin's case was still active," he said. He could feel his ears and the back of his neck growing warm.

"Were you going to ask me out after?" she asked, skeptically.

"… Probably not," he admitted. "But, in fairness to me, it's not because I'm dense. I just didn't think you'd be–"

"Well, you were wrong," she interrupted. "Do you like to eat late, like a proper person? Because I was thinking maybe eight-thirty. I'm partial to this little seafood restaurant a bit out of town, _Lex Roux_."

This was going awfully fast. Trying to keep his head from spinning, Harry stammered, "Uh– I suppose I'll make a reservation–"

"I already did. It's under your name," she added. "You should pick me up around eight."

He stared at her. "You're very efficient."

"Why waste time?" she said, straightening up from where she'd been leaning against his desk. "I know you've got my address on file somewhere, so… I'll see you tonight."

"See you tonight," he repeated, dumbly. He knew there was a stupid grin on his face, but try as he might, he couldn't quite remove it.

He noticed a similar one on her face as she turned away with a little wave.

Two years was a long time to go without loving anybody. He supposed, though, that sometimes the wait was worth it.


	4. Ginny: Part 2

**Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another**

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Prompt: "Anonymous asked: I LOVE that minific with Draco, Ginny and Hermione! I really love it. I'm curious now, will Draco get Hermione?"

 **Ginny: Part 2**

 _Spring 2004_

They had an unspoken agreement to never mention it again.

The first social interaction with Draco had been painfully awkward. Ginny had been flighty and nervous and weird, and he'd been almost stiffly formal. She longed for those eight months they'd spent growing more and more comfortable with each other.

She wished she hadn't said anything.

Now that their friendship was officially on the rocks, it left her without many prospects for conversations at the parties. Pansy and Ron had become nearly inseparable, and Ginny was pretty sure they were snogging in closets when they both mysteriously and conveniently disappeared from the room at the same time. Harry and Daphne were usually making love-eyes at each other (barf), and Blaise was usually tied up debating social issues with Hermione.

Blaise and Hermione being friendly was sort of out of left field, in Ginny's opinion. She hadn't thought Hermione would appreciate his passive aggressive little comments.

And she didn't.

But instead of seething quietly like most people did, she called them out, bluntly and boldly. Maybe that was what Blaise liked about her: she certainly didn't fail to keep things _interesting_. Hell, maybe Blaise fancied her, too, since apparently Hermione was just the _best thing ever_ to these insufferable Slytherins.

Doing her best to swallow her resentment, Ginny debated between Harry/Daphne and Hermione/Blaise and eventually picked the former. She would have preferred Pansy, all in all, but she'd disappeared with Ron somewhere again.

As she chatted with Daphne about something nice and good and utterly banal, she watched Draco smoothly insert himself into Hermione and Blaise's debate.

Predictably, the good-natured debate had become a vicious little verbal sparring session within about ten minutes, one that Blaise was simply spectating, his eyebrows nearly up to his hairline. His eyes slowly panned to Harry, and they shared a _look_ , both rolling their eyes.

Ginny grit her teeth. Was Draco's crush on Hermione apparent to _everyone_ except her?

This really _was_ embarrassing.

Time to drink the pain away, she figured, swirling the rum around in her little cup before downing it all in a single go.

* * *

"Why don't you talk to Malfoy anymore?" Hermione asked, suddenly, and Ginny nearly tripped into a shelf. They'd passed a bookstore on the way to the cinema and Hermione had, of course, insisted they go in.

"What?" she asked, feeling a bit of a panic settling in.

"Malfoy," Hermione repeated, slowly. "You guys used to talk for hours, ignoring the rest of us, but now it kind of looks like you're avoiding each other. Did something go wrong?"

Catching the dangerous tone in Hermione's voice, Ginny said, quickly, "He didn't do anything, Hermione. We just… ran out of things to talk about."

She didn't look particularly convinced, eyeing Ginny skeptically, but finally shrugged and continued perusing the books. She ran her fingers over the spines as her eyes traced the titles, and Ginny took a moment to really look at her friend.

Beneath the frizzy mess, her face _was_ pretty, although Ginny often ached to make her put on mascara or something, at least. She had a small, pert nose, big brown eyes, and shapely lips.

But Ginny had _seen_ the type of women Draco usually dated; his romantic life was always photographed in the _Prophet_. Cool, beautiful, collected supermodel-types. _Nothing_ like Hermione.

By looks alone, Ginny would have definitely placed herself as more Draco's type than _Hermione_. She always saw tall, slim women with perfect hair and gleaming smiles on Draco's arm. In contrast, Hermione was short, pretty but nothing _special_ , and far too awkward and pigheaded to maintain any sort of dignity in a social setting.

He couldn't possibly be _serious_ about her. His parents, for one, would have a heart attack and possibly die.

And secondly, Hermione would probably nag him to death over using his fortune to do some Good Deeds or something. He'd _hate_ that. They'd constantly be arguing, belittling each other. They'd probably get into a duel and straight-up kill each other before the third date, if, that is, he _ever_ got around to asking her out.

"Why? Did he say something?" she asked, casually, lowering her gaze purposefully to miss the speculative look Hermione shot her.

"No," Hermione admitted, slowly. "I mean, nothing about you, no. He looks sort of sad about it, I guess. I haven't really asked. It's not like we're friends, or anything, after all."

"Just screaming buddies, apparently," Ginny muttered, referring to their high-volume 'debates.'

Hermione scowled. "I can't help it if he's such a stupid prat," she sniffed. "I think he's up to something, anyway. He's trying to be nice to me, for some reason, and I just do _not_ trust that, at all."

"He is?" Her voice had grown faint with surprise.

"Yeah. He even tried to invite me to the opening of this new museum in _Muggle London_. I told him the tickets were sold out, and can you believe it? He _had some_. God, I wanted to go so badly," Hermione sighed. "But whatever he was planning probably wasn't worth it."

Merlin.

So he _had_ made a move.

Feeling a lump grow in her throat, Ginny swallowed a few times, trying to force it down. He _was_ a little serious, it looked like. She wondered if he'd already spoken to his parents about it – if they'd given him the green light. Or maybe they'd threatened to disown him and he'd bravely refused to relent in his pursuit of his _lady love_.

"I wonder how he got tickets to a Muggle event," Ginny intoned. She really _did_ wonder how he'd managed that. Probably paid someone a thousand Galleons to go find some.

Hermione sighed. "Who knows. Maybe he just transfigured some and he was going to lure me out to have his friends beat me up," she joked, laughing.

"Or maybe he just wanted to go with someone he knew would appreciate it," Ginny mumbled. She wanted desperately to stop feeling sorry for herself. She should be happy for Draco, finding someone he liked and furthermore having the guts to try and ask her out. She should be happy for Hermione, to have a prospective suitor interested enough to actually figure out what kinds of things she liked and try appealing to her as a person instead of just taking the lazy route and asking her to coffee.

She wanted to be a better person than she knew she was. "You should go."

"What?" Hermione asked, shocked. "With Malfoy?"

"He's not as much of a prat as he was in school, you know. He's actually kind of… cool," Ginny said, with as nonchalant a shrug as she could muster. It was killing her to say this. There was a part of her that she was ashamed to say wanted to poison Hermione against him – wanted to destroy any hope he had of getting her.

She wasn't going to give in to that part. Catching Hermione's incredulous look, she said, "I told him you liked going to museums and that none of us really liked to go with you." Just a little white lie. "He must like them, too, and thought you'd be interested."

"You really think so?" Hermione asked, frowning. "I do want to go, but it's so hard to trust his intentions after all those years of him being such a git."

"He's changed," Ginny said. It wasn't really true. Draco was as much of a prat as he'd always been, at least in her estimation. But something had changed in him, hadn't it? If he found himself sincerely thinking about taking up with Hermione Granger, _Queen Mudblood_ , then something must have. Maybe he'd decided that certain things he'd been raised to believe weren't important.

And that was a huge step to take, even if he was still kind of an arsehole.

Hermione sighed, unsure. "Maybe," she finally said. "I'll have to think about it. I mean, spending time with him is so exhausting. I think he likes seeing me get angry."

"Think of it as debate practice," Ginny suggested.

Her heart was breaking, even as Hermione laughed, and agreed to give the not-a-date a chance. But she summoned a smile and wore it, stubborn, refusing to be less than the friend Hermione deserved. Merlin knew she had some ground to make up in _that_ department.

* * *

Some paparazzi had found them.

Ginny wasn't sure how they'd tailed them all the way out into Muggle London, but the picture they'd taken was definitely a moving one and definitely published the next morning in the _Prophet_ , under the headline: _**Is Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor Finally Off The Market?**_

She forced herself to look at the picture as it moved, over and over, refusing to look away until she felt like she'd grown numb to it.

Hermione was wearing something nice, since it was a museum opening – one of the two nice dresses she owned, and one she'd owned for nearly five years. It was plain and blue, a simple A-Line that drew no attention. She'd picked it up off a rack in a store somewhere, so it wasn't the best fit, although she insisted it was 'fine.' Her hair was pulled back, but already escaping the clips she'd used to pin it into a bun.

In contrast, Draco looked impeccable in a three-piece suit, perfectly tailored to his body.

The picture started with them appreciating one of the exhibits, and Hermione grew excited at something she saw and grabbed his arm, pointing across the room at something out of sight of the camera. Draco's gaze flicked from the hand on his arm to her face, and Ginny could see the moment he'd made the decision to move in, his face softening as his eyes dropped to her lips.

She turned up to him, saying something that was probably swotty and annoying, just in time for him to lean down and catch her lips with his.

Surprise made Hermione go still, her eyes widening a bit. When he pulled back, she blushed, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth. Ginny could see her lips forming a question, suspicion filtering into her expression.

Then Draco shook his head, and leaned in again, a soft smile on his face.

And although Hermione still looked a little suspicious, she didn't stop him. And this time, she closed her eyes, her fingers fluttering uselessly before grasping at the edges of his coat and leaning back towards him.

The kiss was chaste, and sweet, like a fairy-tale.

"Ugh," Ginny announced, turning the _Prophet_ over to hide the picture. " _Ugh_." She turned the newspaper over again, glaring at the picture as it moved through the motions again. " _Ugh_!" she yelled, throwing her hands up at her ceiling.

Because damned if they weren't fucking _adorable_ together.


	5. Hermione: Part 1

**Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another**

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Prompt: "Anonymous asked: I'm embarrased to ask this... I feel bad because you don't have time :( But, could you write the moment when Draco asked Hermione to go out in a date, and then the date itself. We read Ginny's perspective, and I'm intrigued to see it in direct person. I understand If you can't write, thank you anyway :)"

 **Hermione: Part 1**

 _Spring 2004_

"That's completely preposterous," Blaise was saying, in the middle of their political debate. "In fact, it's so preposterous that I'm going to need to leave and get myself another drink so that I can inebriate myself to an appropriate level to engage you."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him as he got up, moving away. Leaving her alone with _Malfoy_ , who was as odious and awful as ever.

Silence reigned for a few moments.

"Granger," he said, suddenly, and she sighed through her nose. _Here we go_. Let the insults begin.

Stiffly, she glanced at him, waiting.

He looked unsure of himself, which was something she'd _never_ seen out of him – at least, outside of the early years of school. After a few seconds of silence, he said, "Did you hear about the new air and space museum opening?"

Stunned, Hermione stared at him. "Of course I did. Did _you_?" she asked, squinting. That was Muggle stuff, and as far as she knew, Draco Malfoy did not bother himself with _Muggle stuff_. Especially when it was science-based Muggle stuff. She supposed he could pull the stick far enough out of his ass to frequent an art museum, _maybe_ , but a flight one?

"Yes," he said, a little testily. "I like to keep apprised of what's going on."

She shook her head a bit. "But it's a Muggle museum," she pointed out, frowning a bit. It was just so _out of character_ for him.

"Well, I'm thinking about going," he said, suddenly – almost a little flatly, like he was offended at the notion that he wasn't the sort to go to Muggle museums. "You like museums, don't you? Maybe you should go, too."

She laughed. "Malfoy, that opening has been fully sold out for months," she said, regretfully. She would have dearly loved to go – if the tickets hadn't cost nearly two hundred pounds and everyone hadn't snapped every single one up the second they were for sale. It was supposed to be a blow-out event, fancy dress-style, completely financed by some posh bloke who was one of the museum's financiers. All the greatest academic minds in London were supposed to be going.

He reached into his inside breast pocket, and produced two rectangular pieces of paper, holding them out. Hermione's eyes widened as she took them, feeling her jaw drop. "How did you get these?" she demanded.

"I have my ways," he drawled, a bit smugly.

Ugh. He really was a prat. Hermione stared at the tickets covetously for a moment before passing them back to him. "Well, you're lucky," she said, trying to not sound _too_ openly wistful. "Who are you going to take?"

He blinked at her, momentarily at a loss, and then chuckled, tucking the tickets back into his breast pocket. "I was going to take Astoria," he said, and she didn't know him well enough to detect the lie. "But she canceled. You should come with me. I'd hate for the ticket to go to waste."

She started laughing at the _very notion_ , sure he was just making fun of her again. "Yeah, sure," she said, sarcastically. He could probably go outside and throw a rock and find a new date to that thing.

"I mean it," he said, more seriously.

Hermione stared at him for a long moment, suspicious. Her eyes narrowed. "What are you planning?" she asked, bluntly.

"What?" he scoffed. "Nothing."

"You're being nice. You're _never_ nice," she accused. "What are you doing? What, you're going to make me go there in a nice dress and then show up with someone else, or something? Leave me outside?"

"No!"

"Get me alone somewhere and jinx me? Are those tickets even real?" Hermione demanded, leaning away from him a bit. It was all just too suspicious; Draco Malfoy was never a _decent person_.

He glared at her, his nostrils flaring as he desperately tried to summon some patience. "Of course they're real. I'm not planning anything."

She didn't believe him. "No, thanks, Malfoy," she said, firmly.

"I'm not _planning anything_ ," he repeated.

"I'm busy that night," she said, primly, as she stood to join Harry and Daphne across the room.

His glare intensified when he realized he was being _rejected_. By _her_. "What, washing your hair?" he asked, nastily. "Does the water even penetrate to the heart of that mess? Does your scalp actually get wet?"

Shooting him a dirty look, she growled, "Sod off, Malfoy," and stalked away.

"Owl me when you change your mind," he snapped.

Distantly, she heard Blaise re-join him and ask, in a mild tone, "What did you do _this_ time?"

* * *

She agonized over the letter after her talk with Ginny. She really didn't want it to sound like she was _crawling back_ or anything. Malfoy was a git, through-and-through, and he'd likely lord it over her for the rest of their miserable time as forced friends together.

Hermione had already resigned herself to the fact that Malfoy wasn't going anywhere. Pansy, Blaise, and Daphne all seemed to _like the ponce_ , for some ungodly reason.

Of course, she could just keep going as she'd been, avoiding him as much as she could and leaving before the verbal spats became magical ones.

But the thing was, she _really_ wanted to go to that opening.

Steeling herself, she grabbed a quill and began scratching a message out on the parchment:

 _Malfoy,_

 _I talked to Ginny and she seems to think you don't have any awful intentions. Against my much better judgment, I've decided to trust hers._

 _Is the extra ticket still unaccounted for?_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Granger_

It still sounded a bit tetchy. But she didn't want to grovel only for him to respond that he'd gone and given the ticket to one of the long series of gorgeous women he was dating. It would be far too mortifying.

She expected an answer in the next few days, since Malfoy seemed like the kind of arsehole who liked to make people sweat.

So she was surprised when her own owl returned _with_ a response.

 _Ticket's already yours. I knew you'd change your mind. I'll pick you up at six._

 _M_

"M," she muttered, rolling her eyes. That was _so_ annoying – like he was a _spy_ or something. Still, she was relieved that the ticket was still free. Maybe Malfoy was finally trying to bury the hatchet or something. Which meant Ginny would be right.

She supposed it would be a relief to not be constantly fighting with him.

* * *

When she opened the door to Malfoy's knock, she expected some sort of comment about her dress or her hair or her inexperienced makeup. She'd done her best with the eyeliner and mascara, but the eyeliner was crooked and the mascara kept gooping everywhere. The dress was one of her favorites, even if Ginny kept bothering her to at least get it tailored.

And her hair was her hair. Nothing she could really do about that.

Shockingly, though, all he did was silently extend his elbow. Blinking a bit in surprise, Hermione took it, feeling it would probably be rude not to. She realized that she _recognized_ this pose – it was the one he and his dates were usually photographed in by the _Prophet_ photographers.

This wasn't a date, though. It couldn't possibly be.

They walked out of her flat in silence, then down the street towards the Leaky Cauldron. After about a minute, she said, "Alright, the lack of mean comments is actually starting to creep me out. I know you have unflattering thoughts about my appearance. Just say them."

"I think you look very nice," he said, woodenly, sounding almost strangled.

She almost burst into laughter. "Malfoy," she chided.

He managed to hold it in for a second longer before the dam burst. "Those shoes don't even match your dress, which is _hanging_ off you, by the way. I think I could have done your eyeliner with a steadier hand. Your hair is already coming out and going everywhere. _Please_ tell me you bought this dress within the last year and I'm not actually seeing uneven fading at the collar."

"Fading?" she asked, pulling her collar out from her neck and trying to crane her head down to see it. "Where? There's not any fading, it's perfectly fine."

"How _old_ is that thing?"

"None of your business!" she retorted, putting her collar back. "It's fine. It's not fading."

"More than three years?" he pressed.

She was stubbornly silent.

"Merlin," he muttered, shaking his head a bit. "At least get the waist pulled in."

"It fits _fine_ ," she insisted.

"I've never seen anything so ridiculous," he assured her. Through all this arguing, though, she noticed that he hadn't once threatened to leave her, nor had he removed her hand from his arm. It was drawing some looks, them walking together, although he steadfastly ignored them.

She was pretty sure she saw a shutterbug creeping along behind them as they headed out of the Leaky Cauldron and into Muggle London. She decided to ignore them.

Now that the ice was broken, they spent the cab-ride (Malfoy knew how to hail a cab, she discovered) sniping at each other. The dynamic didn't feel as tense, though, maybe because she was so excited to go to the opening. His insults felt less barbed, and she found herself laughing at them more often than not. In return, her retorts usually earned a stifled smile, pressed into the palm of his hand as he leaned against the window and watched her from the corners of his eyes.

At the opening, of course, she completely forgot to insult him. Her eyes lit up with wonder as she walked into the foyer and her gaze was drawn to the massive World War One fighter hanging from the ceiling.

She spent the rest of their walk through the opening – which was just one big cocktail party, from what she could understand, no one was even really _looking_ at the exhibits – being needlessly excited about everything. She didn't let go of his elbow, wanting someone to be excited with (or at, as it usually turned out), and as the first hour slowly passed, she was surprised when he didn't shake her off.

Eventually, when she was sure he wasn't going to leave her side, she _did_ release him, flitting from exhibit to exhibit like an excitable child.

There were cameras all over, so she barely noticed the one flashing as she pointed across the room, her free hand slamming onto his forearm and squeezing. "Look! An actual space shuttle and– _you can go inside_ ," she exclaimed, grinning madly.

She turned towards him. "Did you want to go in–?"

He was close, she realized. That was her last thought before his lips were on hers.

Eyes widening, she froze up. He let the kiss linger a minute, and there was a sense of regret when he finally pulled back a bit, his eyes searching hers. Searching for what, she had no idea.

She reached up and pressed the backs of her knuckles against her lips. They felt like they'd been seared with a branding iron.

"Is this a prank?" she asked, softly, searching his expression for any hint of amusement.

His smile was brief, torn somewhere between amusement and remorse, and he shook his head. Then it faded as he leaned in again, pausing just for half a second before contact, giving her a chance to pull away.

She didn't.

Draco finished the lean, pressing his lips more surely against hers. He made a soft noise in his throat that reminded her a little of a whimper, and she softened against him, gingerly pressing back. She realized she didn't know what to do with her hands, and moved them around uncertainly before finally grasping the edges of his jacket.

When the kiss ended, she knew she was as red as a single person could be before actual combustion. At least he looked a little pink, himself.

Almost _vulnerable_ , actually.

"Was this a date?" she asked, quietly.

He winced a bit and shrugged. "It was if you didn't slap me when I did that," he admitted.

"Why?" she asked, still unable to let go of her paranoia. She was _not_ Draco Malfoy's type. She knew that with as much certainty as she knew anything. Malfoy dated leggy, jaw-dropping Purebloods, not swotty little bookworms.

He shrugged again. "I don't know," he said, honestly. "But, hell, why not?"

She couldn't help it; she laughed, softly, and a dumb grin spread across his face in return, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "We're going to drive each other mad," she predicted.

"I can't think of a more interesting way to spend my time," he returned.

The dumb smile didn't quite leave her face the rest of the night. At least, she thought, it seemed like his couldn't be controlled, either. She wasn't sure what the future held for the likes of them – they'd certainly kill each other before the year was out, right? – but she realized that she was sort of interested in finding out.


	6. Hermione: Part 2

**Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another**

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Prompt: "Anonymous asked: Could you write a small scene/drabble/one-shot in which Hermione and Draco are dating and he introduces Astoria to Hermione. And Hermione is jealous because Astoria is really beautiful, and sometimes Hermione feels like she isn't enough (like in your Dramione with Ginny, in which Ginny told Draco that Hermione deep down cares about her appearance). And Astoria flirts a bit with Draco... But Draco loves Hermione :) It could be other part of the Dramione (with Ginny) series, or other new drabble."

 **Hermione: Part 2**

 _Summer 2004_

Dating Draco Malfoy was one of the most terrifying things she'd ever done. It slotted somewhere _below_ the Battle of Hogwarts and somewhere _above_ seeking out a runaway basilisk with a mirror.

It wasn't that he was a bad boyfriend. After four months of dating, she could say with reasonable certainty that he was actually a pretty good one; despite still being a massive _prat_ , he consistently showed consideration for her interests, went out of his way to include himself _in_ said interests, complimented her fairly regularly, and showed a keen interest himself in spending a lot of time with her. The sex, which had commenced somewhere around week two of dating, had almost _shocked_ her with its excellence – she would _never_ have guessed, in a thousand years, that Draco Malfoy was a generous lover.

He could be a bit of a selfish git outside of the bedroom, naturally, but once _inside of it_ , it was like a secret alternative self unlocked and suddenly it was all a big, fat Hermione celebration.

In all honesty, it was a bit overwhelming. She was much more used to her boyfriends being the lackluster sort.

However, that wasn't what made dating Draco Malfoy terrifying.

That distinction lay with the social circles he frequented, especially the girls he'd previously dated, which he seemed to be on excellent terms with as a general rule. She wasn't sure how it was possible to date a series of people so bitchy and self-centered and come away friendly with them, but Draco had certainly managed it. He could probably write a _book_ on how to end short-lived relationships on a happy note.

Whenever she asked, of course, he was dismissive, shrugging the question away. It hadn't occurred to him that enmity with one's exes was even possible.

Then again, the Pureblooded circles he frequented weren't exactly massive. Maybe they'd all been trained to stay on good terms with each other, no matter what, in order to keep garnering invitations to all the parties.

Speaking of the parties, Hermione hated them.

Talking with the snots that populated them filled her with anxiety, mostly because she could see in their bemused expressions that they had _no idea_ why Draco was interested in a plain little thing like her. Sometimes, she'd be locked in conversation with one of them, and they'd just give her this curious look mid-way through, as if to ask, _You? Why you?_

She wished she could help them, but she had no idea, either. A part of her half-expected every day that Draco would show up for a date, burst out laughing, and say, " _Seriously? April Fool's, Granger. Get out of my sight."_

However, the months dragged on, and he never did. And his interest in her _seemed_ sincere; she had _no_ good reason to doubt it.

But looking at him, engaged with a small gaggle of beautiful women across the room, she couldn't _help_ but doubt it a little. He was a strikingly handsome man, probably due to generations upon generations of selectively breeding with only the most beautiful women money could buy. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a trim waist that led into unreasonably long legs. His teeth were gleaming white and perfectly straight, and his smile was perfectly symmetrical. Even his _ears_ were attractive.

And yet he was with her.

She'd found a less populated corner of the ballroom to stand in, praying for a few moments of peace – _everyone_ wanted to meet the girl that had gotten Serial Bachelor Draco Malfoy caught in her wiles for longer than two weeks, and of course they were always a little disappointed with how average she was when they did.

Lucius Malfoy was across the room, holding court. Since the war, his public opinions on Muggleborns had changed _radically_ , to the point that he almost seemed proud that his son was dating one.

Privately, though, he was still cold as hell, and she had no doubt that he disliked her.

Narcissa, bless her, was trying. Kinder by nature than her husband, she was usually the one to try and engage Hermione in conversation (although struggled to keep the polite smile on her face when Hermione actually spoke about the things that interested her, no doubt bored to tears). She tried to suggest fashion tips, makeup tips, hair charms, and Hermione tried to smile and promise to use them. But she never really did. She just didn't care about that sort of stuff.

But Draco seemed to like Hermione, so Narcissa had become determined to like her, too.

"Hermione." She turned, smiling wanly when Draco approached her. He looked briefly concerned by her location at the far corner of the room, alone, and then offered her a small wince of sympathy. He knew how much she hated these things; she was equal parts determined to go for his sake and determined to go so none of these snobs could say they'd successfully scared her off.

A woman moved along in his wake, tall and beautiful, _like usual_. Her blonde hair was half done up, and the remainder cascaded over her shoulder in perfect, smooth waves.

She recognized her as Draco's previous girlfriend – the one he'd had the longest relationship with so far, at nearly five months, although Hermione was close to shattering that record – Astoria Greengrass. Despite being friendly with Daphne, she'd never properly met Astoria; from what she'd heard, Daphne dating Harry Potter had estranged her from her sister a bit, although Hermione couldn't particularly fathom why that was.

"This is Astoria; you remember her from Hogwarts, don't you?" Draco said, gesturing towards the blonde.

She summoned a better smile. "Of course. Daphne talks about you a lot," she added, although that wasn't really true.

Given the sarcastic eyebrow tilt she received from the girl, she supposed Astoria had caught the lie. "We've always been very different people," she admitted. Daphne had been quiet and reserved in school, and Astoria had been more popular and confident. As adults, Daphne liked to socialize but was content to sit in the house with Harry and do something quiet and intimate. From what Hermione had heard, though, Astoria was sort of Queen Socialite, and possibly the most eligible potential wife in all of London.

"I like your dress," Hermione offered. It was beautiful and shiny, and the exact sort of thing Hermione herself never wore.

Astoria's eyes flicked over Hermione's attire – despite the nature of these parties, Hermione always insisted on dressing herself. To Draco's credit, though, he never once looked embarrassed to be seen with her, even though she was wearing yet another dress off the rack of a department store. This one, at least, was new. "Your dress is… very interesting," Astoria murmured, at a loss for anything truly nice to say. "Who made it?"

"Erm… I don't know," Hermione said, blinking. "A bunch of machines in a factory, probably."

Astoria's face went blank when she failed to recognize the most important words in that sentence, but she managed a tight smile. "I see." The music shifted, and her smile grew, becoming radiant as she turned to Draco. She put her hand on his forearm and leaned in, offering him a _resplendent_ view of her chest. "Oh, I love this waltz. Dance with me?"

"Of course," he agreed, amiably. He glanced at Hermione. "I'll be back."

She nodded, her own smile a little tight as her stomach twisted. Astoria stayed latched onto his arm, simpering a bit as he led her to the dance floor. She knew it was stupid, but a part of her wished that Draco could at least look a _little_ reluctant to be dancing with the gorgeous blonde.

As the waltz progressed, though, she had to admit to herself that he looked like he was having fun. Hermione had never agreed to dance with him at these things – not even once – because she was terrified of tripping and making a damn fool of herself in front of everyone. She didn't grow up learning these dances, like everyone else.

He'd asked her a few times, but had eventually given up.

Now, looking at him sweep Astoria around the room, she kind of wished he hadn't. A wave of something that felt a little like depression swept over her, and she hugged her arms in front of herself.

Maybe they were both just kidding themselves. She was never going to fit into his world – not when this stuff was such a huge part of it.

And Astoria Greengrass was a much better fit for it. Lucius adored her, Hermione knew, as did Narcissa. She figured they'd had plenty of confused conversations with Draco, trying to ascertain why he'd ever ended things with her only to downgrade to _Hermione Granger_.

It was utterly lacking in any sort of social graces, but she raised her glass and gulped back the rest of her drink before setting the glass on the nearest flat surface.

Then she weaved through the crowd to find the Floo, which was tucked away in another room. She couldn't spend another second in that packed ballroom with all those judgmental snots who _hated her_ , watching her boyfriend grin happily as he danced with another, more beautiful (and obviously better suited) woman. She wanted to go home, get out of this itchy, uncomfortable dress, put on her baggiest pajamas, and curl up on her ratty old couch with Crookshanks and try to forget what existing felt like.

The Floo was across an empty drawing room, and she walked briskly for it, hoping to get there before someone noticed her leaving.

"Hermione?" No such luck.

She paused at his voice, her hand hovering over the little alabaster tin of floo powder. She supposed she at least owed him enough to let him know she was leaving. Turning, she smiled at him, and said, "Sorry, I suddenly developed this massive headache. I think I ought to go home."

Draco frowned, cross the room towards her. The waltz music was still going on, she realized; he'd left Astoria on the dancefloor?

"You don't have a headache," he told her, and she winced a bit. She'd never quite gotten the hang of lying. He stopped in front of her, his hand seeking out her elbow. His skin was warm. "Why are you leaving?"

She sucked in a breath. "Jesus, Draco," she muttered. "I don't belong here. I'm so ridiculously out of place, I feel like I'm more a show than an attendee."

His frown intensified a bit. "You got invited, just as I did."

"So everyone could see the dog-and-pony show that managed to trick you into dating them," she snapped, a little bitterly. "Nobody's actually interested in talking to me. They're just trying to figure out if I Imperio'd you, or slipped you a love potion, or something."

"That's ridiculous," he said, firmly. "If you'd done either of those things, I'd be acting very out of character."

"I _know that_ ," she hissed, bristling. She knew what the Imperius did. She knew what love potions did. She didn't _need him to tell her that_. In a room full of gorgeous women, her intellect was _all she had_ , and damned if she was going to let him snatch that away from her, too. "Look. I'm fine, I just want to go home. Go finish your dance with _Astoria_."

His eyebrows shot up, and he leaned back a bit to regard her.

When he just stared, silent, she grit out, "What?"

"I don't think I've ever seen you _jealous_ , before," he said, wonderingly.

"I'm _not_ jealous!" Hackles fully raised, she shook his hand off of her elbow, crossing her arms in front of her chest and scowling with all of her might. "But I think everyone in this house, you and I included, can tell which one of us is probably the better match for you. What are you _doing_ with someone like me?"

Sobering a bit, Draco's eyes scanned her face. Then, simply, he said, "Enjoying myself for the first time in a very long time."

Stunned, she blinked at him. She felt her mouth open, but she had no words, and eventually she closed it again.

"I'm not too good for you," he said, slowly. Her face went bright red, confirming what he'd suspected, and he laughed, incredulous. "I'm not. If anything, you're far too good for _me_. I should be kissing your feet every day, that you'd condescend to even look at me."

She knew her face was as red as it could possibly get. "Don't be stupid," she muttered, embarrassed.

"I'm not stupid. I was right behind you in marks," he reminded her, closing the small gap between them. His hands framed her face, tilting her chin up to look at him. He looked somber. "I don't think I've ever wanted anything as much as I've wanted you."

"Stop," she muttered, utterly mortified by his sincerity.

"No," he refused. "I would give all of this up for just one more day with you, arguing about something stupid like French politics, making you laugh." His voice dropped a bit, with promise. "Make you sigh with pleasure."

"Oh, my God, we're in public," she protested, shooting a scandalized look at the door.

His smile widened. "I love you," he said, and smirked a bit when he saw her eyes widen comically. She spluttered a bit, and he took mercy on her and kissed her so she wouldn't have to formulate a response.


	7. Draco: Part 1

**Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another**

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Prompt: "Anonymous asked: Prompt: The Needing is One Thing drabble series (If you can continue, of course): Ginny talks with Draco before the date with Hermione, he's very happy because he really likes Hermione, and it seems that Hermione really likes him too, he tells her about the sex he had with Hermione. Ginny feels sad, they get drunk, and Ginny kisses Draco, but then she realised what she has done, she apologies and Draco cheers her up, and he introduces Blaise to her :)"

 **Draco: Part 1**

 _Fall 2004_

"Draco?"

Surprised, he straightened from the vanity mirror he'd been using – one of Daphne's – to check his teeth. He'd come over for a brief moment to congratulate Daphne on her pregnancy, and after this he was taking Hermione to a restaurant. They'd been dating for over six months, now, and things were going _surprisingly_ well.

He'd really thought she'd be through with him by now, but in a shocking twist to _everyone involved_ , she actually seemed to like him. She hadn't returned his confession of love, yet, and he didn't think she'd do it anytime soon. She was too careful, too exact.

But he was a patient man.

He smiled at Ginny. "Hello, Weaselette," he said, with a faint, friendly smirk. They'd barely spoken since he'd started dating Hermione, but he'd missed their talks.

She summoned a wry smile, pointing at his tie. "Date?"

"Yes," he answered, pretending not to see the flicker of hurt that flashed in her eyes at that one, simple word. He'd never _wanted_ to hurt her. Looking back on their – how long was it, a whole year, almost? – time talking at all those parties made him cringe. He could see why she'd thought him flirtatious. To be fair, he _was_ being flirtatious – it was just that Ginny, being as removed from proper high society as she was, had never learned the difference between friendly flirtations and serious ones.

Not that he'd flirted, seriously or otherwise, with Hermione Granger, but Hermione was the sort of girl that tended to have all the rules broken when it came to interacting with her at all.

"Good. I'm happy for you," she said, and he could tell that she was sincere, even though she sounded miserable. "Did you… you know?" She gestured crudely with her hands. "Yet?"

He huffed a laugh, but couldn't resist the brag. "Of course," he said. And, seeing the curiosity spark in her gaze, he added, "It's… amazing."

"You really love her, don't you?" she asked, wonderingly.

He hesitated. He hadn't told anyone else that, save Hermione. But finally he squared up and said, plainly, "Yes, I do."

She smiled through the pain. "Good." Then she was gone.

* * *

Given that she'd broken the ice, he cautiously approached her at the next party. She smiled at him, and it _seemed_ happy, although maybe that was the vodka in her. "Weaselette."

"Mal-turd," she retorted, and he laughed.

"That was terrible. Is that the best you've got?"

She racked her brain. " _Smell_ -foy."

Chuckling, he took up a spot beside her. "Better," he said, although still chidingly. "But you've clearly lost some of your bite, all these months without my damning influence. I'll take partial blame for that. Thirty percent at the most, mind."

"Thirty percent of the blame?" she protested. "Sod off, you little wanker, that was _all_ you." She was laughing, though, and he grinned.

After a moment, she settled, and added, quietly: "I missed you."

He nodded. "Yeah," he agreed.

They both took long pulls from their respective drinks, watching the party commence around them. Hermione was still getting into it with Zabini at every opportunity, and it was possibly the most animated Draco had seen the man in a long, long time. Something about her, he supposed. There was just something about that curly-haired little termagant that was magnetic.

Ginny grabbed his arm, and he tore his gaze away from the two of them to raise an eyebrow at her. She nodded towards the dining room, indicating that he should follow her, and darted out of the kitchen.

Curious, he followed her – all the way down into the basement.

It had been redone into some sort of game room. The ceiling was enchanted to look like the stars, and he instantly wondered if it was Hermione's doing. She'd always been so enraptured with the Great Hall's enchantments. "What, you want to play billiards?"

"Billiards?" she scoffed. "No one calls it that anymore. Join the 21st Century, Smellfoy."

"Using the insult _twice_ doesn't improve it," he snorted, turning to set his drink down. When he turned back to grab a pool cue, she was right in front of him, her eyes half-lidded. Startling a bit, he stared at her. "Weaselette?"

"Do you ever wonder?" she asked, softly. He could feel her breath on his lips.

"Wonder what?"

"About us," she breathed, and then she was kissing him.

His eyes widened, and his immediate panicked thought was: _I cannot let Hermione see me like this_. At this point, he knew her _far too well_ to think that she could be reasoned with if she saw him snogging her best friend. She'd excommunicate them _both_ from her life.

Spurred on by that knowledge, he shoved Ginny roughly away, breathing hard. "What are you doing?" he demanded, angrily.

She stared at him, utterly shaken. After a moment, she started to tremble, her expression crumbling a bit. "Oh, Merlin," she whispered, a sob wracking through her. "Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't– I'm so sorry– don't tell her, please–"

Blinking at the transformation, Draco glanced at the basement stairs. No one in sight. "Calm down," he said, softly, and gathered her into his arms.

She buried her face into his chest, crying, and he swallowed a bit. This was _almost as bad as the kissing_. Because if Hermione walked in and saw this, she'd probably assume he'd said something _mean_ and then hex his bollocks off, and he was _extremely attached to those_. He had to turn this around, and quickly, before anyone stumbled in and saw the two of them.

"Hey, listen," he said, scrambling around for something to say. Finally, he said, "Why do Potter's glasses look like he picked them up at a convenience store when he's arguably one of the richest men in Britain? I think they're even bent a little at the ears."

She giggled, wetly, and he almost collapsed in relief.

He continued, "You'd think he'd at least get them professionally straightened back out. It looks like he laid them on the kitchen table and took a rock to them."

Laughing, Ginny pulled away, wiping her eyes.

Draco examined her, still a bit wary. "Okay?" he asked, quietly.

Sniffling, she nodded. "Sorry," she repeated, although more evenly, this time. "I was just… being drunk and very, very stupid."

"Well, those two things usually go hand in hand, so… don't worry about it."

"Draco?" Hermione called from upstairs.

He froze a bit, glancing up the basement stairs, and sent Ginny a searching look. She shook her head, still wiping her eyes, and shooed her hand at him. "Go, go. I just need a minute to not look like a hot mess," she assured him. "Go ahead."

Grabbing his drink, he headed up the stairs, resolved not to be alone with a drunk Ginny for a good long while. Maybe she needed _another_ six months to cool down.

Or at least a new boyfriend.

Mentally, he began to catalog everyone he knew that was currently unattached. He usually left the matchmaking to his mother, but this was an emergency situation.


	8. Astoria: Part 1

**Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another**

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Prompt: "You have to continue Hermione Part 2, make it part 3! hahaha (sorry, I'm so excited). A part 3 but in the same scene, in that ball in the Manor. And Astoria should appear again! (for drama, I love drama)."

 **Astoria: Part 1**

 _Summer 2004_

Draco had suddenly and abruptly dropped his hands in the middle of the dance, murmuring, "Excuse me." Then, he was gone, the faint impression of his warmth lingering in her skin. Stunned at being abandoned on the dance floor, Astoria froze where she stood for a second, mid-step. Anger started to boil up in her, and she pivoted to see Draco making a bee-line for the door.

Furious, she weaved through the dancers to follow him and give him a piece of her mind. How _dare_ he?

As she approached, she heard voices from the drawing room. She couldn't make out the individual words, at first, until she was nearly in front of the door. Then she heard Draco say, slowly and carefully, like he was slightly uncertain of the words: "… I'm not too good for you."

Silence met his response, and Astoria stopped just outside the door.

After a beat, he laughed. "I'm not. If anything, you're far too good for _me_. I should be kissing your feet every day, that you'd condescend to even look at me."

Hermione's voice was low, and Astoria just barely caught it: "Don't be stupid."

As the conversation continued, Draco murmuring sweet endearments that he'd never once uttered around Astoria, she felt her stomach twist a bit with jealousy. It wasn't fair. They'd dated; he'd _liked_ her. She'd kept his attention for nearly half a year, and she was well on her way to getting the ring, she was pretty sure. Then, suddenly and abruptly, it had all ended, just a few weeks after her own sister had taken up with Harry Potter.

Maybe Daphne had trail-blazed the path of dating undesirables and Draco had simply seen his opportunity to go for Hermione after years of quiet pining. Maybe they'd met thanks to Harry and Daphne, and he'd suddenly felt something.

She'd never know. All she knew was that Daphne dating the Boy Who Lived was the beginning of the end.

"I love you," she heard Draco say, and then there was silence, and the faint sounds of snogging. Her face twisted up a bit with disgust; this soppy little man barely resembled the one she'd been dating, and a part of her hated this soft underbelly of him almost as much as it desired him to direct it at _her_.

The faint kissing sounds stopped. "Let's get out of here," Draco suggested.

"Really? But you were enjoying it," Hermione reminded him, sounding a little guilty beneath the overtones of hope.

"Only because you were there."

She heard the Floo roar to life. Draco had told her that he loved her, and she hadn't even returned the sentiment – for a minute, Astoria was sure he'd demand to know if she loved him back. Instead, his voice remained gentle as he assured her that he was perfectly fine leaving the party. They were both talking _normally_ , as if he hadn't just made the most astonishing confession of all time.

The roaring of the Floo suddenly stopped, the green light of it fading away from where it spilled into the hallway. It left her feeling cold, and insignificant, for the first time in her life.


	9. Draco: Part 2

**Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another**

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Prompt: "Anonymous asked: Ok, so this is my prompt is for the Needing Is One Thing or a new story, Viktor Krum arrives to London. He wants to see Hermione, he still likes her, so he looks for her. Hermione wants to see Viktor because he's her friend, but she doesn't have any romantic feelings for him. I want to see a jealous Draco, though."

 **Draco: Part 2**

 _Fall 2004_

"Oh, I can't meet on Wednesday," Hermione said, shooting him an apologetic smile.

Draco blinked. This would mark the first time Hermione had ever refused a date, and although he knew it was likely just a scheduling conflict, he felt a thin coil of dread curl down his spine. He smiled through it, effortlessly and breezily confident. "Oh?"

It had been eight months since he'd first asked her out, and he'd never stopped truly wondering when she was going to come to her senses and break up with him. Especially lately, when the more unsavory aspects of his personality – temperamental, judgmental, a bit nasty when grumpy – were becoming harder and harder to hide. Although she gave as good as she got when he was in a particularly unforgiving mood and showed no real signs of ending things the first few times they'd argued, he figured it was only a matter of time.

"Viktor's coming into town Tuesday to Friday for some Quidditch thing," she said, waving her hand a bit when she realized she couldn't recall what exactly the 'Quidditch thing' was. "We're supposed to meet and catch up on Wednesday."

It took him a few seconds to place the name. " _Krum_?" he asked, incredulously. "You still talk to him?"

"Sure, we probably write a few times a year," she said, looking slightly confused by his surprise. "We're still good friends."

Somehow, Draco _doubted that_. The way Krum had left Hermione after the tournament didn't look like sodding _friendship_ to him. It looked like he was utterly besotted with her, which was ridiculous because 1) he barely _knew_ her and 2) _he barely bloody knew her_.

He could feel his eye twitching a bit. "Where will you go?" he asked, casually.

"Probably the Leaky Cauldron, or something. Oh, do you think I should show him something fun in London?" Hermione asked, frowning a bit. "That didn't even occur to me. I should be showing him a good time, right?"

"No," he responded, flatly. At her confused stare, he molded a smile onto his face. "I mean, no, that's not really your responsibility. I'm sure he's got a lot planned for the week, he probably just wants a casual night to catch up. I'll come," he offered.

He expected her to refuse, but she smiled. "Really? Sure."

Of course, he had to protect his territory from roaming single males. Law of the Jungle, and all that.

* * *

Naturally, the plan would have gone a lot better if he was able to meet them on time. When something had suddenly come up in his father's affairs, he'd sent her an owl assuring her that he was _coming_ , but he would likely be late. He wasn't able to stick around and see if he'd gotten a reply.

So when he went to the Leaky Cauldron a good two hours after they'd probably gone there, he was both surprised and not very surprised to realize they weren't there.

Striding to the bar, he demanded, "Hermione Granger and that Bulgarian moron. Where did they go?"

The bartender stared at him, speechless for a moment.

"Any time _today_ ," he snapped, irritably.

"Um, I think they went into Muggle London," she stammered, a little thrown off by his brusqueness. "Something about an… an eye?"

"The London Eye?" She blinked, nodding a bit, and his face twisted into a little snarl as he turned and stormed out of the Leaky and straight into Muggle London. He only just barely remembered to transfigure his clothes into something more appropriate.

The London Eye was the highlight of their sixth date. It was also the romantic moment that had eventually culminated in their having sex for the first time.

And now she was taking _Krum_ on it.

Of course, he didn't doubt Hermione's intentions. For such an intelligent witch, the woman could be a thrice-blasted _idiot_ sometimes, as naive and unassuming as a bloody four-year old. She didn't have it in her to be unfaithful, or knowingly lead a man on when she was in a relationship. She very likely just thought she was being nice and showing Krum a _good time_.

But Krum? Krum, he wasn't sure about. Not at all.

He was fuming the entire walk there. When he arrived, he didn't see them in the line to get on, which meant they were probably already up there. Alone. In a compartment together. With a _big, fat romantic view_ laid out before them.

Gritting his teeth, Draco took up a post just outside of the ride, his eyes narrowed at the cars that were deboarding.

Finally, he saw them.

She was laughing, the wind picking up her hair. He was laughing, too, but his eyes were caught on her in a way that she seemed utterly oblivious to, a strange softness in his gaze that set Draco's teeth on edge.

He was going to punch that Bulgarian's lights out.

"Draco!" Hermione said, surprised. "Oh, good, you got my owl." It hadn't even occurred to him to go home and check for a response from her. He nearly kicked himself.

Stepping towards her, he made brief eye contact with Krum before snatching her against him and snogging her _thoroughly_. She squeaked in surprise against his mouth, stiffening for a moment before relaxing. He could feel the faint sound of laughter bubbling up out of her throat as she reached up and smoothed her hand over the side of his neck.

When he released her, she laughed again, a little confused. "What was that for?"

Draco smiled, the expression like a shark's as he took in Krum's slightly crushed expression. "Just missed you," he said, sweetly, and was rewarded with a beaming smile.

 _Law of the Jungle, bitch_ , he thought, smugly.


	10. Blaise: Part 1

**Needing Is One Thing; Getting? Getting's Another**

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Prompt: "Anonymous asked: Hermione pt 2 in the Needing is One Thing series is just perfection. You captured all those feelings of inadequacy so well - and of course they are contrasted with what we as readers know of Draco's agonies over wooing her. The end where he basically says he just adores her is perfect. I'd love to see a snapshot of Draco's continuing anxiety over 'keeping' her and Hermione finally realising she loves him too and that they do have a future. SJ"

 **Blaise: Part 1**

 _Fall 2004_

"She's been distant," Draco murmured, pacing a bit.

Blaise was sitting on his armchair, watching Draco stalk around his library like a loon. He looked only vaguely sympathetic. "Well, you _did_ have what sounds like a fairly explosive argument," he pointed out, his voice a low drawl. The constant drama of Draco's uncertainty had been amusing, at first, but now Blaise just found it boring.

Draco stopped, staring at the fire. "Do you think she'll end it?" he asked, quietly.

"No," Blaise sighed, but he knew Draco wasn't listening.

The blond began to pace again, faster and faster and likely wearing a hole in Blaise's imported rug. "She will. She probably ran off to Potty or Weasel and they're convincing her to break up with me right now," he muttered.

As he passed Blaise's chair, the man's hand shot out, grabbing Draco's wrist in a death-grip. "Sit down," he enunciated, through his teeth, "before I break your legs."

Grumbling, Draco shook his hand off and flopped into the other chair, looking mutinous.

Blaise gave him a good, hard stare, which Draco returned irritably. They'd never been able to intimidate the other very well; he supposed that was why they'd remained such steadfast friends over the years. "She's as obsessed with you as you are with her," he informed him, flatly. "Although given your disposition, one begins to wonder why."

"Shut the fuck up," Draco muttered. He let his head drop back against the armchair, eyes closing. This girl was going to drive him insane.

He opened his eyes again when Blaise pushed a glass of Firewhiskey into his hand. "Relax," he suggested, his exotic and aristocratic features the very personification of annoyed condescension. "You'll make up with her and everything will return to as it usually is."

"You'd better be right," Draco sighed, and downed the glass in one go.

* * *

They'd been ignoring each other for most of the get-together at Potter's, one day later. Although, unbeknownst to each other, Blaise _saw_ every single time they shot longing glances at one another. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes so hard that they _fell right out of his head_.

"So how are things?" Hermione asked. "Anyone new in your life?"

"Stop prying into my romantic life," he ordered. He never let anyone get away with as much shit as he let this girl, he knew. There was simply something about her that seemed able to effortlessly cross any boundaries a person tried to set up.

She was lucky he liked her.

Grinning, Hermione scooted towards him a bit. "It sounds like there _is_ ," she teased. "Who is it?"

"As usual, your powers of perception are breathtaking," he murmured, the slight edge of sarcasm the only indication of his mockery. "You should have been a Divinations witch."

She scowled, her nose wrinkling. "That's revolting," she huffed. "Come on, _tell_ me."

"Why do you think there's anyone?"

"You seem, impossibly, _more_ smug than usual," she snorted, raising an eyebrow at him. "Besides, I need an uplifting romance to eyeball while I deal with _my_ little fiasco."

Both of them glanced towards the kitchen, where Ginny and Draco were talking.

"What did you fight about, again?" he wondered.

Her lips pursed, her cheeks going a little pink with embarrassment. "Tea," she muttered. At his withering look, she defended, "Listen, if you'd been there, it would make more sense. He was being a _prat_."

"That's all he ever is," he reminded her.

She frowned. "That's not true. Sometimes he's very sweet, he's usually really funny, and–" He just regarded her, unimpressed, and she flushed again. "Oh, shut up," she muttered, standing. Ginny and Draco were gone from the kitchen, and she glanced around for them before heading off to find them.

Blaise suddenly got a bad feeling when he realized that neither Draco nor Ginny were anywhere to be found, and got to his feet as well, following her.

"Draco?" she called, wandering through some of the less-populated areas of the house. There was no immediate response, and Blaise came to a stop at her side. He knew of everything that had gone on between Ginny and his friend, of course, but it had been months. He had no reason to suspect that anything untoward had happened.

There was just that gut feeling.

After that beat of silence, footsteps sounded on the stairs to the basement, and Draco came out. He looked calm enough, on the surface, but Blaise knew him well enough to detect the faint air of panic around him. "Hermione," he said, shooting a glance towards the basement door. Shooting Blaise a meaningful look, he started to lead her away from it. "I… I want to apologize–"

"No, I should. It was such a stupid fight," Hermione said, softly, as Blaise headed for the door. He just barely made out her murmuring as he got on the stairs to head down: "You know I love you, right?"

There was stunned silence, and then he could practically hear Draco's grin. "You do, do you?"

"Don't be a prat!"

Their voices faded away as he headed down the stairs. He wasn't surprised to find Ginny there, her eyes rimmed red and sniffling. She startled upon seeing him, and dashed at her eyes again, summoning a smile. "Hey. Something's in my eye," she said, before he could ask. "It's so dusty down here."

Sighing through his nose a bit, Blaise crossed the room and patted her shoulder. She seemed surprised by the gesture of comfort, and he saw the moment when she realized that he knew.

Red flooded her face. "Don't mind me," she said, quietly. "Just being an idiot, like usual."

"Must be a family trait," he observed, and smirked a bit when she shot him a glare. He led her over to a couch and sat her down, and then quietly sat down next to her. For a few minutes, he just kept her company while she sniffled and struggled to compose herself.

After those few minutes, she turned to him. "How's things going with Neville?" His gaze shot to her, eyes widening, and she grinned through her tears. "He told me. Nothing stays a secret from me for long, you know."

He was glad of his dark skin, because he could feel his face heating a bit. He wanted to snipe something about Draco's crush on Hermione being a pretty damn good secret, but he didn't dare spawn off any more waterworks, what with Draco and Hermione finally making amends upstairs. His friend would _surely_ kill him. "It's fine," he said, shortly.

She smiled. "He's a good guy."

"I'm aware."

"You'll look very cute together."

"You're pushing it, Weasley," he warned her, and she laughed, the last of her tears fading away.


End file.
